


Hey Mackle-Swiss, can we go thrift shopping?

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crack, Don't Ask, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5303180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend of mine wanted some Poland/Switzerland interaction, so here it is. I apologize for any ooc-ness! Human and country names are used interchangeably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey Mackle-Swiss, can we go thrift shopping?

**Author's Note:**

> original A/N: this took me, like 7 to 8 hours to write… and I didn’t even intend for it to be so long! It was just supposed to be a drabble or a ficlet, but it did not want to stop, geez! So here, for your reading pleasure, I present some weird crack fic that made sense at the time of conception, but it’s like 4 AM now, and nothing makes sense anymore…
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Hetalia, blah blah blah, only the story is mine, blah blah blah~  
> Enjoy.

* * *

They sat on the park bench waiting, Vash for his beloved sister and Feliks for Italy’s arrival to go shopping. It was a particularly sunny afternoon, yet the shade the large tree behind them cast over them was pleasant and cool. They hadn’t spoken two words to each other, other than a shy greeting from the Polish man and an acknowledging grunt from the Swiss. After a few moments of awkward silence, however, Feliks could not take the slightly hostile atmosphere much longer and started talking about anything to break the horribly uncomfortable stillness between them. The Swiss said nothing and merely stared at the pebbles at his feet, yet during the Polish man’s babbling he found his mouth twitching upwards in an involuntary smile.

“Ha! So your face does move, like, I was getting worried it was permanently frozen that way, y’know? Hahaha,” laughed the talkative blond.

“Of course my face moves,” replied the other, a little irritated at this, “it isn’t made of plastic”

“Like, of course I know that, silly, but you weren’t really saying much when I was talking before, and, like, I totally thought you were ignoring me.”

“Who could ignore you? You talk a mile a minute about the most ridiculous things, and you hardly stop to take a breath,” fumed the neutral nation, “and why on earth would you go shopping at retail stores when you can get the same type of clothing for less at a thrift shop!”

“A thrift shop? Like, a secondhand shop? Like for hobo clothes and junk?” Feliks sounded horrified and looked shocked, as if he couldn’t believe people actually shopped for clothes there. He said as much when the short-tempered exasperatedly snapped his fingers in front of his face to bring him back to reality.

“Of course people actually shop there! You mean to tell me that you’ve never gone thrift shopping before?” wondered Vash, he sounded equal parts amazed and outraged at this, “you pay full price for clothes you don’t need?”

“Uh, yeah, duh,” Feliks answered, amazed that someone could be so miserly, “like, Italy and I always go shopping every other weekend and totally shop ‘til we drop, y’know?”

“What?!” Vash looked murderous at the implied waste of money, but Poland either didn’t notice or didn’t care, for even as Vash ranted and raved about the ‘completely careless’ way Poland spent his money, all Feliks could do was watch an autumn red and gold leaf fall delicately onto the white beret of his new friend.

Absently, Feliks reached over, intending to brush it off the still rambling Swiss, but he suddenly found himself staring cross-eyed into the barrel of a rather large gun. His new angry friend was now quiet and glaring at him, as if daring him to get closer.

Feliks just rolled his eyes and pushed the gun aside.

“Puh-leeze, like, I’ve threatened Mr. Russia before; your guns don’t scare me,” said Feliks, a bit annoyed, “’sides, I was only going to take that leaf off your head, like, seriously.”

He reached over again, this time unimpeded and brushed the troublesome foliage from his grumpy friend’s head.

“There we go! All set. Like, that wasn’t so bad now was it Mr. Grumpy?” grinned the perky nation.

The gun-toting man just made a noncommittal sound from the back of his throat, and an awkward silence fell over them again. Or it would’ve had Feliks bothered to move his hand from the top of the other’s head. It seemed he was determined to make the other nation as annoyed as possible. Ignoring the other’s menacing expression, the Polish man removed the beret, dropped it into Vash’s lap, and started running his fingers through the coarse locks of hair of the other man, a rather serious expression on his face.

“Haven’t you ever heard of conditioner? Like, ever? Your hair’s as dry as hay, seriously, you shouldn’t be around an open flame or something; you’ll light up like a match,” critiqued Feliks, ignoring the rather offended scoff from the Swiss, “and a decent haircut, like, really wouldn’t go amiss y’know? To totally get rid of these awful split ends and stuff.”

“A haircut? Really, _you’re_ recommending _me_ a haircut? Have you seen your own hair, Poland?” asked Vash half amused and half offended.

“Yes, duh, and you’ll notice it’s, like, _way_ softer and nicer than yours.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Here, like, feel for yourself!”

And with that, the talkative Polish man grasped the hand of the other and placed it on his own head; the Swiss, his hand now atop the head of the other, froze at this strange turn of events and stared at the other man, unsure of how to proceed.

“Well you can’t feel it like that if you don’t move, y’know,” muttered Feliks, replacing his own hand on Vash’s head, “like this.”

Feliks slowly patted the other’s head, much like one would pat a child’s, and then Vash’s hand slid off Feliks’s, hardly noticing the silky texture of his hair before blushing and glaring. Feliks, again either ignoring the death glare aimed at him or oblivious of the homicidal aura surrounding Vash, continued his gentle stroking, eventually calming the high strung Swiss.

“You know, when Italy and little Liechtenstein come along, like, you two are totally invited to come shopping with us,” said Poland cheerily; he enjoyed having the power to soothe the Swiss, “and, like, you could show us the thrift shops you were so enthusiastically defending a while ago. What do you say? Will you come? It’ll be totally great, promise!”

“Uh, first let’s see if our appointments are even going to show up,” Vash said, a little annoyed and hurt that his sister was late. He finally moved away from the comforting touch of the Polish man, and replaced his beret.

“Ah, I’m sure they’re fine, Vash, plus if Italy’s found her, then they’ll both turn up,” said Poland, trying to soothe his new found friend with words this time, “oh look, there they are!”

Feliks waved at the approaching pair of nations who were both holding an ice cream cone, yet it looked like Italy was crying and poor little Liechtenstein was trying to comfort him. Immediately the Swiss nation stood up from the bench, and went to his sister who glanced at the sniveling Italian man now begging for his life. Reluctantly, Feliks followed, interested in what could’ve distracted them for a half hour.

“—not his fault brother, we simply got caught up talking,” said the small female nation, trying to make herself heard over the loud pleading of the North Italian nation, “and then he bought me ice cream, so please put your gun away. He hasn’t done anything to me.”

“Please, Mr. Switzerland,” begged the crying, pitiful, auburn-haired Italian, “I know we’re not on the best of terms, but if you let me go, I promise not to run through your yard again! Just please don’t shoot me!”

Feliks put his hand on Vash’s shoulder, trying to calm the gun-happy nation currently pressing his gun barrel to the trembling Italian curled up on the ground before him, clutching a white flag of surrender.

“Now Vash, don’t you trust your darling sister to speak the truth? Like, if she says nothing happened, and they just got ice cream, shouldn’t you, like, trust her word and stuff?” asked Poland, slightly concerned for his crying friend now attempting to hide under his little flag.

The Swiss nation spared the Polish nation an annoyed look who just smiled pleasantly, before lowering and putting away his weapon. He then offered a hand to the now silent, but still shaking, Italian, and helped him up. Once the Italian was on his feet, Poland helped brush off dirt off his shirt and pants while Liechtenstein, holding two ice cream cones, talked to her brother.

“Ve, he’s so scary Feliks! I nearly ran away before we got close to you two, but Lili had me stay, she said it was ‘only proper for a gentleman to stay with the lady he’s escorting’,” whispered Italy, looking a little shaken but otherwise fine, “and of course, being Italian, it is my duty to be kind to all the pretty girls… even if their brothers are terrifying!”

“Well, like, I’m glad you finally made it anyway, even if you are, like, a half hour late,” pouted Feliks, “I thought you stood me up!”

“What? No!” cried Feliciano, slightly shocked his friend would assume that, and tears forming at the corner of his eyes again, “No, I swear! We just got distracted by ice cream! Ve… speaking of which, where’d my ice cream go?”

“Mr. Italy, are ok now?” asked Lili, approaching the two nations, her brother standing behind her like an intimidating shadow, “I’m sorry about my brother scaring you, please be assured he will try not to threaten you anymore today. Oh, here’s your ice cream back, I took it from you before you collapsed.”

“Thank you Miss Liechtenstein!” Feliciano chirped happily, accepting his slightly melted ice cream from the younger nation, “Did I do well as your escort today?”

“You did very well Mr. Italy, I thank you,” agreed Lili, she curtsied as best she could while still holding her mostly eaten cone, she then turned to her brother, eyes big and innocent and said, “Mr. Italy did well in escorting me across town, brother, he even bought me ice cream. Don’t you think that deserves an admission of gratitude? And perhaps an apology for the misunderstanding on your part?”

“I… well…,” the neutral country floundered, powerless against the cuteness of his sister.

Italy stood still, not daring to breathe, while Poland smirked in amusement; his friends were so funny. Finally, the words of gratitude and apology burst out violently from the beret-wearing nation, and startled Italy who let out a small yelp before accepting both the thanks and apology.

“Well,” exclaimed Poland, clapping his hands together, “Now that we’re all, like, friends and junk, how about we all go shopping and just, like, totally hang out? Oh my gosh, Feli, so, like, Vash, was telling me about thrift stores and how they’re totally _not_ stores for hobos! What do you say, should we go?”

“Really?” asked Feliciano, looking awed at the new knowledge, “We should definitely go! It sounds fun!”

“Oh, can we brother? I’d really like it if we went shopping,” pleaded the small nation, her ice cream eaten and gone but a little remained, smeared on her cheek making her look positively adorable.

“Fine,” he relented with an irritated sigh, “we can go, but these two idiots are paying for everything!”

“Yahoo!” cheered the bouncy Italian who began jabbering away about shops and high-end boutiques to a smiling Liechtenstein.

“Ok, but if we’re paying Vash, you’re _totally_ getting your hair done,” laughed the Polish man, “and we can buy you a really nice coat. Oh my gosh, this’ll be, like, so much fun!”

Switzerland just groaned. Is this what having friends was like? He wasn’t sure he liked ‘friends’ very much, but as he glanced at his sister happily chattering away to that cowardly Italian and the ever-energetic Poland tugging at his arm to walk faster to the shop, he gave a tiny, almost invisible smile that only Lili could see.

Friends, huh? He could learn to live with that…

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> apparently 2013 was a busy year for me..  
> still moving fics


End file.
